


Purple Ribbons

by LongerWalks_and_ShorterTalks



Category: Common Law
Genre: Doctors, Hospitals, M/M, Nurses, unidentified disease
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongerWalks_and_ShorterTalks/pseuds/LongerWalks_and_ShorterTalks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know your body better than anyone else.</p>
<p>Yes, this is an odd statement, but it's true, right? You can have doctors diagnose you left and right or parents telling you what you should and shouldn't eat all your life. But still, no one knows your body better than you. No one can tell you how you're feeling, or what's normal for you. It's your body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "When it rains it pours" they all say

You know your body better than anyone else.  
  
Yes, this is an odd statement, but it's true, right? You can have doctors diagnose you left and right and parents telling you what you should and shouldn't eat all your life. But still, no one knows your body better than you. No one can tell you how you're feeling, or what's normal for you. It's your body.  
  
It took Wesley Mitchell a few years to figure this out. With parents who think they know everything, you just kind of let them talk. Whatever gets them to _shut the hell up_. But then you start to listen. They sound like they know what they're talking about - and you're only a child - so you believe it. They watched you grow up. They took care of you. It seems only logical that they know your body better than you.  
  
But then you get these pains. In your stomach and your joints. It's agonizing, but they insist you're over reacting. You just "don't want to go to school today" or "you're exaggerating, it's not that bad". They don't take you to doctors because, "It'll go away in a couple days". But those days turn into weeks. Weeks into months.

It's when certain foods begin to hurt you. You've been eating at that same restaurant your whole life. The burgers with everything on them that you never finish, but they're _so good_. Except this time, its not your full belly that's causing the pain. It doesn't feel the same. The pain is so bad, you can do nothing but hold your mother's icy hand until the pain subsides, only to return hours later.  
  
It's when you're thirteen and you're curled into a tight ball. Your hand on your stomach as your tears leak into the carpet.

It's when she says "Wesley, you're over reacting" that you realize she doesn't feel it. She doesn't feel the pain you do because it's your body. She's not waking up two or three times a night to rush to the bathroom or holding on to your stomach until the pain stops.  
  
It's that moment when you realize it's your body. You know it better than anyone else. You have to take care of it because...  
  
Well, who else will?  
  
As Wes gets older, the pain begins to fade. He eats healthier. He joins the track team. He begins taking care of himself. He never bothered to see a doctor because the constant trips to the bathroom begin to lessen, along with the pain.  
  
It's been a while since Wes thought about those times. Now in his 30's, he's healthier than he's ever been in his life. The pain only returning every few years.   
  
When he rolled over, the only thing Wes could see was the 6:00 PM shinning in bright red and the fourth episode of Jeopardy playing on the television. It was his third week staying home, and he was exhausted.  
  
The blonde hadn't been this stressed in a long time. It's been a month since he and Travis solved a case. Travis would blame him and Wes would do the same, which did nothing but make them argue more. Wes hadn't even seen Travis since their last fight three weeks ago. It was obvious that Travis was still upset. Wes checked his phone every now and then just to see if Travis had called or texted. He didn't.  
  
Wes shifted on the bed, looking for a comfortable position. He usually fell asleep on his side, facing the wall. However, the last month has been very different. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable. Deciding to just lay on his back, Wes tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.  
  
This had to be more than stress. Wes couldn't even enjoy his favorite foods because of his lack of appetite. It wasn't just his favorites, either. He hasn't had an appetite for any kind of food. He knows he should, but he can't even seem to force himself eat because the only thing he does as soon as he comes home is sleep.  
  
That's the other thing. Wes used to wake up from the smallest noise. Now, it's as if he sleeps like a rock. 12 hours straight; more than that if he actually tries to do something during the day.  
  
As if all that wasn't enough, the stomach aches were back. The pain will stop him right in his tracks. It's like he's been stabbed. Like someone reached inside him and grabbed onto his intestines, squeezing as hard as they could. He hasn't had these pains in a while and all he can do is curl up in a ball until the pain goes away. Missing his mothers cold hands for the first time in years  
  
He knows something is wrong. He knows that he should just stop pretending everything is okay, and go to the hospital. But anyone who knows Wes, knows how stubborn he is.  
  
Maybe he is "over reacting".  
  
 _I'll give it another week._ Wes thought. _If it gets any worse, I'll go to the hospital._  
  
Wes stared up at the white ceiling of his bedroom. He's did nothing but lay in bed all day with the television droning on in the background. He glances at the pale walls, as if they will motivate him to move. Although it has begun to warm up, Wes was still freezing under three blankets. It felt more like mid November rather than early March.  
  
Poking his head from under the blanket, he glances at his cellphone. Still no calls from Travis.  
  
Finally mustering up enough strength, Wes rolls out of bed. Everything is fine until the room begins to spin. He reaches out for something to hold on to until his vision clears. Standing upright, Wes makes his way into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Light floods the small room as Wes' eyes land on the cabinet under the sink. Carefully, he gets down on his boney knees to search around under the sink. Finally finding what he was looking for, Wes stands up; slower this time so the room does not spin. With a steady grip on the sink, Wes steps onto the scale.  
  
While waiting for the numbers to appear, Wes chances a look at the mirror. What he sees is terrifying. Wes was never a big guy, but he was never this skinny. His collar bones protrude out his chest while his arm looked like they'd snap in half in any moment. How could he not have noticed? Not being able to look any longer, the blond remembers that he is standing on a scale. Wes' heart stops as the numbers glare back at him. He's lost 30 pounds in a month. How could that have happened? How could he not have noticed?  
  
His breaths come out harsher and heavier the more he thinks about it. He has to go to the hospital. There's no way in hell that this is normal. What could be wrong that would make him lose 30 pounds in a month?  
  
How the hell could he let himself think he was "over reacting"?  
  
Stumbling out of the bathroom, Wes makes his way towards the nightstand where his phone is. He begins to dial Travis' number until he stops.  
  
Why is he calling Travis? They're fighting right now. The last thing he wants to do is take Wes to the hospital. As true as that is, Wes has made enough stupid decisions for the rest of his life. Whether Travis wants to or not, Wes knows he shouldn't drive himself to the hospital. Wes presses the call button.  
  
It rings twice before he picks up.  
  
"If the first two words out of your mouth aren't "I'm" and "sorry", then you may as well hang up now."  
  
"..." Wes remained silent.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"...Travis."  
  
"Wes?" the anger in Travis' voice was replaced with worry.  
  
"I need you to pick me up."  
  
"What? Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at home. I need to go to the hospital."  
  
" _What_? Why? Damnit Wes, I leave you alone for- "  
  
"Can you yell at me after you come pick me up? I don't think I can stand much long-" Wes' grip on the nightstand slipped as his vision began to blur.  
  
"WES?"  
  
"I'm...I'm fine Trav. Just hurry."  
  
"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'm on my way."  
  
"Like I have a choice."  
  
Wes sat on the floor where he collapsed, staring up at that same white ceiling. He can still here the television. The Jeopardy theme mocking him as he waits for his partner.


	2. But what if that were to happen every day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day (:

After carrying Wes to his car, Travis returned to his apartment to get his things. The pain had vanished once Travis left, but Wes knew it would return. The detective began to regret his decision to call Travis. His partner over reacted about everything. Wes couldn't even have a cold without Travis fussing over him.

Travis reemerges out of the apartment with one of Wes duffle bags. 

"You gonna tell me what the hell is going on?" Travis says tossing the bag into the backseat before walking over to the drivers side.

All he got as a response was a grunt. Wes had never shared this with anyone. The only reason Travis was witnessing this was because Wes had no choice. If Wes could drive to hospital himself, Travis wouldn't know anything about this. He didn't even know how to begin explaining it.

"Wes," Travis said, looking at his partner. "You're gonna have tell me sooner or later."

"Yeah, well I choose later." Wes rolled his eyes.

Whether Wes knew it or not, Travis was extremely worried. Anyone would be if their partner disappeared for a month after you guys had a fight. Fighting had never been a problem in the past. They'd argue, and in the next few days, everything would go back to normal. Travis thought it Wes didn't want to be partners anymore, and that scared him. Wes knows him and all the crazy shit he's done. Knows how he grew up. They've gone through some crazy stuff together, and Wes is still here. Travis would have no idea what to do without his partner. He was convinced he'd messed everything up until Wes had called him earlier that evening.

Whatever Wes has, Travis had never seen before. Wes had lost an unhealthy amount of weight. He looked fine but every few minutes, he would grip his stomach in concealed pain.

"Wes," Travis began in a softer tone. "I know we haven't talked in a while and I was probably the last person you wanted to call. But you know I care about you. So can you stop with the bullshit, and tell me what's wrong?"

Wes closed his eyes and let out a long sigh before saying, "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I just...It's been happening since I was young." Wes shifted in his seat, leaning his head against the headrest. "I get these pains. In my stomach. They hurt like hell, but only last for a few seconds. A minute at the most. It stopped for a few years, but they started coming back."

"Any of your doctors say what it is?"

"I haven't been too a doctor..."

"What?" Travis started, taking his eyes of the steering wheel to glare at his partner. "You've been going through this your entire life and you never went to a doctor? What the hell, man?" 

"It went away for a good 20 years, Travis. I didn't think it was a big deal."

 "Of course it's a big deal, Wes! You always make a big deal about eating healthy and give me shit all the time when you can't even take care of yourself. Why didn't you call me sooner? I can't believe you..."

Wes tuned him out. He will admit what he did was pretty stupid. Travis would've come and get him no matter what they said to each other during a fight. His symptoms never lasted over a week so that was a sure sign that something was wrong. Wes looked over at his partner. Travis was still ranting about his health and how he should have called earlier. The hand that wasn't being flung around in ridiculous gestures was gripping the steering wheel tightly. The blond could tell how angry his partner was by the way his voice was rising every few sentences. He always knew Travis cared - hell, he cared for Travis more than he wanted to admit - but why was he still yelling?

And then the pain began again.

"Ah!" Wes shouted as his left hand shot out, reaching for the nearest object. The stabbing pain in his left side only got worse as he continued reaching out. Another had clasped his as Travis began shouting again.

"Wes! Wes, baby, you okay? What's wrong?" Travis started the car with one hand, turned the police sirens on and sped down the street.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Just get me to-" Wes gripped his stomach with a pained shout. "Get me to the the hospital."

"We'll be there soon, baby." Travis said softly as his grip on his partner's hand tightened.

* * *

 

Wes knew this was a terrible idea.

He should've just called Alex. Hell, he could've called Jonelle. Anyone but Travis. Wes pulled the hood down on the sweater Travis gave him while his partner continued to shout.

"I gave you all the information! When hell is he gonna get a room, after he dies?" Travis learned over this front desk, frightening all the nurses.

"Sir, he will be called as soon as we get another room. Please sit down." A blonde nurse tells Travis while shuffling through some papers.

Before Travis gets to yell at her too, and voice from the back interrupts.

"Wesley Mitchell."

Travis rushes back to his partner to help him up. 

"Can you walk? You want me to carry you?"

"No," Wes replied quickly. "Just help me up."

They make their way behind the nurses desk to a white room in the back. There were two nurses, a woman seated at the computer and a man sitting in a chair next to the big equipment.

"Please remove your shoes and step on the scale" the man asked.

Wes took a seat in the only empty chair to take off his shoes and hand them to Travis. As he stood on the scale, the screen blinked red before the numbers '68.03' flashed across the screen. Wes stepped off the scale and sat in the only other chair in the room while the nurse took his temperature. They asked all the standard questions ("Name? Had any fevers? Any Medications? Rate your pain on a scale of 1-10.")  that Wes answered quickly.

Wes tried staying calm, but kept getting distracted by Travis pacing in the small room. He was already nervous, but watching Travis pace back and forth made him even more restless.

"Travis," Wes whispered as the nurse began taking his blood pressure. "stand still. You're making me nervous."

"Me? You're making me nervous." Travis stated in disbelief. Before Wes got the chance to retort, the nurse at the computer spoke.

"Here" the nurse handed Travis papers while Wes put his shoes back on. "What you're gonna do is go down that hall, through those doors you take a right, and give the people at the desk your papers." The women finished with a smile.

With a smile, Travis helped Wes up again and led him out into the hallway.

* * *

 

After handing them the papers, Wes was finally settled into his room. He'd probably be more relaxed if Travis would sit still for one goddamn second. If he wasn't pacing the room, he was bouncing his leg up and down, or tapping out a rhythm with his fingers. It's was getting annoying, but Wes didn't yell because he new it was just nerves.

"Travis?" Wes asked, waiting for his partner to meet his eyes.

"You okay?" Travis asks, walking towards his bed to check on him. Wes gave him a small smile.

"I'm fine Travis. I just wanted to say thank you."

"For what, baby?" Travis answered absentmindedly while fixing Wes' pillows and blankets. Wes had to slap his hand to get him to stop, which only made the darker man laugh.

"Stop calling me that," Wes scolded. "For bringing me here. For even answering the phone. I know I said some things that-"

"Wes," Travis stopped him. "Don't even worry about it. I would've answered no matter what. You don't need to thank me."

Wes tried to will his blush away before Travis noticed it.

"You've already done enough for me tonight, Travis." Wes looked up with a sad smile. "I'm not going to make you stay here. Go home. Get some rest, I'll be fine."

If he was being completely honest, Wes wanted Travis to stay with him. He'd never done this before and he didn't want to go through it alone. However, he wouldn't ask Travis to stay if he didn't want to.

"Wes, you act like we haven't been partners for the last 6 and a half years. I know you, man." Travis smiled while taking Wes hand in his own. "You don't want me to leave and I don't want to leave. See what happens when I leave you alone? You end up in hospitals!" 

Wes snatched his hand away from his partner only to push him away. Travis was right, but it doesn't mean he was going to admit it.

"Shut up, Travis." Wes grumbled. Trying to at least pretend to be angry.

Travis laughed while returning to his seat on the other side of the room. He began playing with his phone while Wes returned his gaze to the bright white ceiling.


	3. Your life slowly starts to spin out of control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nurse places an IV in Wes' arm. I tried to explain it simply after realizing many of you probably haven't had an IV before. Let me know if it's confusing.

Wes was distracted -- probably counting the ceiling tiles for the hundredth time, -- so he didn't notice Travis watching him.

 _Where the hell is the doctor?_ Travis thought, bouncing his knee up and down. Travis knew he needed to calm down, but he couldn't help it. What if something was seriously wrong? What if Wes had to quit his job? Before his thoughts could wonder into a darker place, someone walked through the door.

"Hey, I'm April, I will be your nurse tonight." The blonde smiled at both detectives before continuing. "So, Mr. Mitchell, what seems to be the problem?"

Giving Travis a weary look, Wes began to list off all of his symptoms from losing his appetite to the stomach pains.

"Any fevers? Coughs?"

"No." Wes answered, already tired of answering the same questions he answered a few minutes ago. Didn't they just write it down somewhere?

"I will get your doctor in here as soon as possible. In the mean time, I'm going to need to take a blood sample and a urine sample. I'll be back soon."

With one last smile, she turned and left the room. Wes rolled his eyes.

"They keep asking me the same questions, I'm going to shoot myself."

"Calm down, man." Travis sighed "You'll be out of here in no time."

It was obvious neither of them believed that.

* * *

 

 

It took a while for someone else to come into the room. Travis was walking around the room, humming a familiar tune while Wes started counting ceiling tiles again. A voice broke the silence.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Wallace. And you are..."

The short man adjusted his glasses before reading the paper in his hand. "Wesley Mitchell. How are you, Mr. Mitchell?"

The doctor smiled. In Wes' opinion, the man looked a little young to be a doctor. His curly brown hair and his fair skin making him look a lot younger than he actually was.

"I'm good-"

"He's not." Travis interrupts before reaching out his hand. "Hi, I'm Travis. Wes' partner." "

Oh. _Oooooh_." The man shook Travis hand with a genuine smile. "It's always nice to have the spouse here. I get the actual truth."

Travis and Dr. Wallace share a laugh while Wes stares in disbelief. What the hell was going on? Why didn't Travis correct him?

"Well Doc. My husband here isn't okay." Travis frowns before continuing. "He's been light headed, he's lost a considerable amount of weight..."

Wes tuned them out. Travis could be annoying, but he knew how much Wes hated repeating himself, so there was an "up side" to him being here. Wes watched from his position on the bed. The doctor would nod every now and then while Travis talked. His partner look extremely worried while he explained Wes' symptoms. He had a few years on Wes, but he looked about ten years younger when he was worried. Like someone kicked his puppy and he was about to cry. _Wes would never forgive Travis if he cried_.

"Okay Mr. Mitchell. I'm sure the nurse already wanted to run a few tests, but there is a big chance we will have to admit you."

Wes' stomach dropped. The blond knew it would happen. It just seemed all the more real when the doctor confirme it. Travis was leaning against the wall, staring at the Doctor in shock.

"I have a few ideas about what may be wrong with you, but I won't know for sure until we get the test results back." With a sympathetic smile, Dr. Wallace disappeared through the door.

The room was silent, neither of the detectives knowing what to say. Wes' heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest any minute. How long would he have to be in here? What the hell did Dr. Wallace think was wrong with him? Slowly, Wes turned to look at his partner. Travis was rubbing his hands over his face, looking exceedingly more exhausted than he did earlier. Wes had no idea what could possibly be going through his partner's head. All of a sudden, Travis pushed himself off the wall.

"I'm gonna go take a walk." Wes almost called after him before realizing he had nothing to say. Travis opened the door to reveal the nurse from before. With a quick "excuse me", Travis pushed pass the nurse and out the door.

"It's okay, just give him some time." The April smiled sadly at Wes. "It's hard seeing someone you love in pain."

Before Wes was able to correct her, she continued.

"I will be taking your blood now and I'll need you to pee in this..." She handed over a labeled cup. "when we're done."

Pulling her long, blonde hair into a bun, Wes watched the nurse walk over to the sink and wash her hands. She hummed a song as she dried them and pulled a pair of gloves on. She pulled a table out from under the sink and spread the IV, four tubes, alcohol pads, tape, and gauze across it. The nurse hooks the only other chair in the room around her ankle and drags it towards the bed.

April looks as if she just switched into nurse mode. She lifts his arm closer to her face, frowning while pressing on his skin. The nurse would make little "Hmm?" sounds before shaking her head and pressing somewhere else. After finding what she was looking for, she reaches into one of her many pockets. She pulls out something long and blue, wrapping it around his arm.

"Could you put your hand into a fist, please?"

She rips open one of the alcohol pads and rubs it across his forearm. Tossing it on the table, she picks up a catheter and removes it from the wrapping. The needle isn't _that_ big, but Wes still flinched nonetheless. The nurse noticed.

"Not a big fan of needles, huh?" She grins at him.

"No, not really." Wes begrudgingly agrees. "Okay Wes," she says, capping the needle carefully, "Tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

Wes was reluctant to tell her before realizing that it'd do no harm.

"I'm a Robbery-Hommicide detective. Ridiculous, right?" Wes chuckles. "I've killed a few men, get shot at almost everyday, and I'm afraid of a needle."

Shaking her head with a smile, she gets up to sit at the edge of his bed. Willing him to continue.

"That man in here before is my partner. It's been six and a half years. I'm just glad he's not here to mock me about my _fear of needles._ "

"Well I'd say you handled it pretty well."

"What do you-" Wes stops when he feels a pinch in his arm. He looks down and sees the needle in his arm. Removin the needle and carefully placing it on the table, April then takes a tube and attaches it to the other end of the catheter. Once it fills with blood, she proceeds to do the same with the other three.

"Soo..." She starts while pulling a syringe out of her pocket. "You guys aren't -- here, open that for me. --married? Or boyfriends?"

Wes takes the syringe out of the wrapping and hands it back. April begins flicking the syringe and pushing all the bubbles out.

"Oh, no." Wes frowns. "Though the doctor seems to think so and Travis didn't bother correcting him."

April lets out a loud laugh before pushing what looked like water into his vein.

"Because there is a chance you might be admitted, we're gonna keep that in there." She says, pointing at his arm. She pushes the little piece of plastic that she said "closes the line", then grabs the tape and gauze.

"How long do you think I'll be here?" Wes asks, staring up at the ceiling.

"Even if we don't find anything in your blood, sweetheart, you've lost 30 pounds in a month. You'll be here a while." Wes could hear the sadness in her voice.

"I know. I was just hoping I heard wrong the first twelve times I asked." April let out another bright laugh just as Travis walked into the room.

"Wes making a woman laugh? Maybe this is a dream and _I'm_ the one in the hospital."

"Oh shut the hell up, Travis." Wes retorted, bringing his gaze to his partners.

"Where did you go?"

"Cafeteria."

"Why did I even ask." Wes rolled his eyes.

Travis chuckled as he came closer to the bed.

"Look, baby, I brought you pudding." Travis raises his outstretched hand towards him. He could hear April make an inhuman sound at the word "baby", but he ignores it.

"I'm not hungry Travis, you eat it."

"When was the last time you ate, Wes?" Wes opens his mouth to answer, only to close it again. He's been sleeping so much, be barely remembers what day it is anymore.

"Eat the damn pudding, Wes." Travis and April say at the same time. Wes snatches it out of his hand with a frown.

"I've known you for half and hour and you're already getting on my nerves." Wes tells April. She smirks up at him after successfully covering his IV.

"Just helping." She begins cleaning up her mess.

"Whatever."

" _Whatever_ ," she mocks in a silly voice, pulling her gloves off, "Just make sure you pee in that cup Wesley."

"Yes, mother." Wes grabs Travis' outstretched hand, pulling himself out of the bed. He gives his partner a grateful smile.

"When the results come in, Dr. Wallace and I will be back. See you guys!"

"Bye." Wes says once he's steady on his feet. Once it's just him and Travis in the room, Travis starts to fuss again. He starts adjusting his clothes and holding onto his arm to keep him steady. Wes huffs in annoyance.

"I'm fine Travis. Just grab that cup and help me to the bathroom."

"Yes, mother." Travis smiles.

Wes tries not to smile back when he swats at Travis' arm.


End file.
